


Is This Bed Taken?

by viscouslover



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Blow Jobs, Hotel Sex, M/M, Rimming, Strangers, Tattooed Castiel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-23
Updated: 2015-01-24
Packaged: 2018-03-08 19:13:30
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,952
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3220283
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/viscouslover/pseuds/viscouslover
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Castiel Novak has a big fucking problem. Currently, that problem is six feet worth of green-eyed, freckle-faced, bastard-child-of-Eros-and-Adonis <i>trouble</i> named Dean fucking Winchester, sprawled out on the bed across from him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [NowMakeThemKiss](https://archiveofourown.org/users/NowMakeThemKiss/gifts).



Castiel Novak has a big fucking problem. Currently, that problem is six feet worth of green-eyed, freckle-faced, bastard-child-of-Eros-and-Adonis _trouble_ named Dean fucking Winchester, sprawled out on the bed across from him.

See, Dean Winchester is an elementary school teacher. He's gifted with the intelligence and patience necessary to navigate the intricacies of early-childhood education. A keen member of the community, he wakes up at five in the morning so that he can be showered and shaved and artfully tousled in time to volunteer at the local shelter before spending the day shaping the minds of curious young people. And he’s more than a hit with all the young moms.

Or maybe he’s a fireman. Yeah, Dean Winchester is a sexy, smoldering fireman who saves the homes and lives of countless people and small, defenseless kittens. He poses in charity calendars where he is covered in soot and sweat, outlining his naturally muscular body. He looks at the camera playfully, almost shy, biting his lip to stop himself from laughing at how ridiculous he feels - knowing that he is the object of many people’s affections, but staying humble and kind.

Wait, no. Dean Winchester is a loner rebel. He drifts from town to town, infiltrating the seedy underbelly and solving crimes that regular law enforcement are too afraid or too stupid to handle. Yes, that’s it. Dean Winchester is the type of man whose entire name is used whenever people speak of him, albeit in nothing more than hushed, reverent tones. He’s a chiseled specimen of justice and fury; equal parts feared and loved by the people who know him, even if only by reputation.

It doesn’t really matter what Dean Winchester actually does. All that matters is that, at this moment, he is sleeping little more than an arm’s length from Castiel and it is fucking _doing things_ to his pelvic region.

“Can I help you, buddy?”

Castiel is knocked out of his reverie by the low, sleep-soaked rumbling coming from Dean Winchester’s perfect, plush lips. Holy shit, Castiel wants to fuck those lips. At great personal cost, he forces his eyes to meet with the school teacher/fireman/gunslinger’s own and utters an elegant, “What?”

Castiel never should have made eye contact. He was happy looking at Dean’s lips and imagining all manner of exquisite torture that they could tease through soft, wet kisses and wicked, dirty words. Now he’s locked in a tractor beam of green and shimmer and… did he just think about fucking _tractor beams_? Dear lord, Castiel is not fit to be in the same universe as this pinnacle of humanity, let alone sharing a hotel room with him.

“Uh, not that I mind waking up next to blue eyes and bedhead, but, could ya tell me who you are?” Dean sucks his bottom lip between his teeth and huffs a laugh that can only be described as adorable if you forget that it’s being emitted from a solid tower of masculinity and, no doubt, virility. He lets his eyes rake over Castiel’s body before sweeping a hand at his own broad, naked chest, punctuating the gesture with an overtly flirtatious wink. “And, uh, why you’re fully dressed?”

Castiel feels an urgent and immediate blush ignite over his entire body. So that answers his unasked question of whether or not Dean Winchester is down for dick. He can go ahead and put a big mental checkmark beside ‘Some Homo.’

Castiel runs a hand down his face, trying to scrub the embarrassment from his features. What has he done to deserve this? He is a good man. He pays his taxes, helps old people cross the street, always tips twenty percent on meals. He doesn’t need this bowlegged hunk of swagger and sex haunting his masturbatory fantasies for the foreseeable future.

“My name is Castiel Novak. I’m dressed because I’m due to present at a conference in-”

“Slow down, Cas,” Dean interrupts, leaning over the edge of the bed to retrieve his discarded clothing from the scattered heaps littering the floor. He sniffs at his t-shirt before he shrugs a shoulder in acceptance and pulls it over his head. “Don’t need your life story, dude.”

“Excuse me?”

“I’ve been around the casual sex block more than once. I don’t need any of the awkward morning-after panic.” He stands up and Castiel uses every reserve of mental fortitude he can muster to avert his gaze from Dean Winchester’s unashamed morning wood. Dean grabs his jeans and begins to step into them, forgoing underwear entirely. “I’m sure we had a great night and now you’re ready to get on with your life. That’s cool. I’m used to it.”

“Dean, that’s not-”

“Hey, you know my name. At least I was sober enough to exchange pleasantries before we fucked, right?”

Dean tucks himself into his pants and zips up before sitting back down to pull on his socks. Castiel reaches out across the small distance between their beds and places a hand over Dean’s wrist.

“Dean, please. I owe you an explanation.”

Dean looks up at Castiel and a slight quiver wobbles his lip, quickly masked by the bravado in his voice, “You don’t owe me shit, man.”

The crack in Dean’s seemingly flawless façade does nothing to curb Castiel’s interest in him. In fact, it has the entirely opposite effect. Castiel has always believed that it is the imperfections that make people truly beautiful. His blush is now at five-alarm fury. It would be really useful if Dean actually were a fireman - he could at least help temper the blaze burning under Castiel’s skin. As it stands, Dean’s unintentionally doing everything possible to stoke the fire.

“Dean,” Castiel tries again. “We didn’t sleep together last night.”

Dean’s eyes widen and he pulls his wrist out of Castiel’s grasp. “The fuck did you do to me?”

“I didn’t do anything!” Castiel panics; he doesn’t want Dean to think he would do anything untoward, despite his vivid personal fantasies. “You really don’t remember last evening?”

Dean narrows his eyes at Castiel, “So what if I don’t?”

“I- I’m here for a conference, as I mentioned, and last night as I was checking in, they informed me that the hotel was overbooked. They wanted to shuttle me to a different location, but I told them that it was absolutely imperative that I have a room within walking distance of the conference. I booked months ago and their oversight shouldn’t result in my-” Castiel cuts himself off. He’s babbling. Dean doesn’t need his life story, after all. He takes a deep breath and grips his hands in his lap to help steady himself.

“You were also in reception at the time - retrieving ice, I believe. You overheard my plight and introduced yourself. You explained that you had a spare bed that would be going unused and insisted that I fill it.” Castiel winces at his choice of words, but otherwise feels that he is doing a fairly succinct job of explaining the situation. “I would never take advantage of you, Dean. We came back to the room and you fell asleep almost immediately. That was all.”

Castiel’s expecting Dean to be stiff and furious, ready to kick him out for abusing his generosity. Castiel hadn’t even offered to pay for the room. He should have offered to pay for the room. Is it too late to offer to pay for the room? He chances a glance at Dean.

Where he expected righteous indignation, Castiel instead sees Dean loose and thoughtful. Dean is leaning sideways into the pillows at the head of his bed; hand propped up to toy at his lips. He meets Cas’ gaze and quirks up his brow.

“I was hammered drunk, I didn’t try to pull any moves, and you were a perfect gentleman.” They’re statements, not questions, but Castiel nods anyway. Dean drops his hand from his lips and a slow smile spreads across his face. “Well, that’s great news.”

Castiel allows himself a matching smile at Dean’s understanding. Now that it’s sorted, he can bid his goodbyes and hopefully still make it to the presentation on time. His dull little life will go on as usual and Castiel will be able to file this occurrence away under Awkward but Ultimately Pleasant Experiences I Shared with Handsome Strangers That I Didn't Fuck.

Castiel steps forward and extends his hand, ready to shake Dean’s and take his leave. Dean reaches out and grips firmly, letting his thumb slowly brush over Castiel's knuckles. He tugs on their joined hands, forcing Castiel to brace himself on the bed to keep from falling on top of Dean. Castiel can feel Dean’s breath puff against the base of his throat.

“That’s great news, Cas,” Dean repeats, letting go of Castiel and fixing him with a look that immediately tells Castiel’s dick that they are never making it to that conference. Dean licks his lips and Castiel can’t help but track the motion. “Because, I really want to remember fucking you.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Castiel closes his eyes and takes a deep breath. He knows it’s probably reckless and foolish to do this - to contemplate throwing away his career to have sex with a complete stranger. But, this stranger is so _incredibly_ hot, and his job is actually pretty fucking terrible. Would it really be so awful to sabotage his dull nine-to-five existence for the chance that Dean Winchester will touch his dick?

“Tell me you want this, Cas.” Dean looks up at Castiel through his lashes, a sinful grin playing at his lips. He reaches forward and weaves Castiel’s tie between his blunt, calloused fingers. “Tell me I’m not a creep for wanting this.”

Castiel closes his eyes and takes a deep breath. He knows it’s probably reckless and foolish to do this - to contemplate throwing away his career to have sex with a complete stranger.  But, this stranger is so _incredibly_ hot, and his job is actually pretty fucking terrible. Would it really be so awful to sabotage his dull nine-to-five existence for the chance that Dean Winchester will touch his dick?

Castiel lets the breath out in a long, slow exhale. He opens his eyes and fixes his attention back on Dean; notices the wary hesitation present in his features, as though he’s just as nervous as Castiel feels. Castiel wonders how on earth this solid mass of pure eroticism could possibly lack confidence in anything. He could probably charm an octogenarian priest into his bed.

Castiel steels his resolve. His mother did not raise a fool. He will definitely allow Dean Winchester to fuck him.

“I want this,” Castiel whispers.

And just like that, they’re off.

Dean fists the lapels of Castiel’s jacket into his hands and practically rips it from his body. The suit jacket and Dean’s t-shirt quickly suffer the same fate. Castiel reaches up to remove his tie, but Dean stills his hand.

“Leave it on.” Dean’s voice is ragged, but soft. It’s a request, not a command. “For now, at least. I want this to be a respectable affair.”

Castiel’s nervous tension breaks and a full-body laugh bubbles up within him. He looks at Dean and sees the mirth dancing behind his eyes; the slight flush reddening behind his freckles. Castiel would do anything to keep that look of happiness on his beautiful features.

Castiel can’t help himself. He leans forward and kisses Dean full on the mouth. Dean doesn't hesitate for a moment. His hands come up to frame Castiel’s face with a tender reservation that is at odds with the fervent intensity of his kisses. Castiel melts against Dean’s lips; as plush and perfect as he imagined them to be.

“Bed.” Dean growls between kisses. “Get on the bed.”

Dean slides back against the pillows and Castiel scrambles to follow him, each of them kicking shoes and socks and pants off along the way. Castiel straddles Dean’s naked lap and wonders why the fuck he’s still wearing underwear. Dean’s choice to go commando suddenly makes incredible, logical sense. A tie is respectable, but boxers are absurd.

“I like you naked,” Castiel says between panted breaths. He’s surprised at his own forwardness. Agreeing to bunk with a drunken stranger in a foreign city shouldn't mean he’s allowed to forego all propriety. Although, perhaps agreeing to fuck said stranger allows more familiarity to enter his tone.

Besides, they’re not total strangers. This is Dean Winchester, possible gun-for-hire and definite sex god.

Dean wraps his arms around Castiel’s back and rolls them over, bracing his hands on either side of Castiel’s head. He leans down and nips at Castiel’s lips before pulling back and looking down meaningfully at the taught material of his boxers. “Wanna join me?”

Castiel decides that restraint is for morons and tries to express his desire for mutual nudity through a series of vigorous head nods.  

Dean places a final kiss on Castiel’s lips, then slides down his body with an eager glint in his eye.

“I’m gonna make this feel so good, Cas.” Dean runs his tongue along the exposed strip of skin between Castiel’s dress shirt and the band of his boxers. “I’m gonna show you how good it can be.”

Dean hooks his thumbs into the waistband, pulls the boxers down Castiel’s thighs, lets Castiel’s hard cock bob free. He smirks and then licks his lips, actually smacking them together in a delicious show of absolute depravity.

“I bet you taste amazing,” Dean says, then lowers his wicked mouth onto Castiel’s leaking hardness.

Castiel has never met God before. He’d been a prayerful man, in his youth, but he had never truly found his Lord and Savior. Not before this moment. Now, it’s obvious that Dean Winchester’s hot, wet mouth, sucking and moaning at Castiel’s cock, is the answer to a lifetime of prayers. To be the object of this brash and beautiful man’s tender ministrations: that is the true meaning of Salvation.

Dean circles his tongue around the head of Castiel’s cock and a shiver runs through his body.  

“You like?” Dean asks between playful kisses to the tip.

Castiel doesn't even try to stop the low, needy moan that escapes. He relishes the sound reverberating through him; enjoys the way Dean visibly preens at the auditory affirmation that he’s doing a _very_ good job.  

“Great job, kid.” Castiel threads his fingers into Dean’s hair, pulling him back just enough to draw Dean’s gaze up to meet his own. Dean’s lips are spit-slick and shining and he spreads them into a gorgeous, beatific grin. Castiel lifts an eyebrow and lets his mouth draw into a small smirk of his own, “Don’t get cocky.”

Dean’s smile falters for split-second before becoming impossibly wider. “Did you just quote Han Solo at me while I’m sucking your dick?”

Castiel lets another laugh of pure ecstasy overtake him. He’s never felt so happy, so at ease, in his entire life. And all he’s done is skipped a meeting to have a handsome stranger’s mouth on his cock. God, how happy will he be when they actually fuck?

“You’re so gorgeous,” Cas says without thinking.

Dean growls and surges forward to capture Castiel’s lips in a searing kiss.

“You have no idea how fucking good you look, Cas. No idea how bad I want you. With your hot fucking body hidden under those hideous fucking clothes. Fucking hell, man, you’re like every naughty professor fantasy I've ever had all wrapped up into one.” Dean grabs Castiel’s arms and pins them up above his head. “No fucking wonder I invited you back to my room last night. Can’t believe I didn't take you apart right then and there.”

Castiel’s blush is back in full force. Dean’s the hottest man to walk the planet, and for some reason he wants Castiel. Oh, but Castiel would give him _anything_.

“Do you wanna fuck me, Dean?” Castiel asks, brazen and buoyed by desire.

“No.”

Castiel’s heart sinks.

Dean cups Castiel’s face, “I want you to fuck me.”

Castiel’s heart stops entirely.

“Is that OK?” Dean asks, worry clouding his words. He drops the hand from Castiel’s face and tugs it through his hair. “I mean, if you don’t wanna that’s--”

“Of course,” Castiel interrupts as soon as his heart restarts. “God, yes, Dean. Of course.” He pulls Dean close and peppers his face with kisses. “I want you to have anything you want. I want to give you everything.”

Castiel can feel Dean’s body relax against him. “Tell me what you want, Dean.”

“Want you inside me,” Dean whispers.

“Turn over.” Castiel guides Dean onto all fours, then settles behind him. He sucks a finger into his mouth and wets it thoroughly. He grips one firm cheek in his left hand and lets his finger play at the tight ring of muscle that is Dean Winchester’s perfect ass. “Is that OK?”

“S’OK.” Dean lowers his head onto his folded arms. “Want it bad, Cas.”

Castiel leans forward and replaces his finger with his tongue. He laps at Dean’s opening, eliciting wonderful, needy whimpers from the quivering man beneath him. Giving Dean what he wants - making him twist and moan in pleasure - Castiel has never felt more powerful than this.

He works Dean open, slowly and carefully. It feels like glorious, tortuous hours of whispered questions, “like this?” And, “how does that feel?” Each question is answered with desperate, murmured assent and heated, writhing bodies. When Dean finally reaches back to still Castiel, he is nearly feral and begging for more.

“Cas, buddy, you gotta fuck me now.” Dean rolls onto his back and shoves a pillow under his ass and hips. His words are rushed and frantic, lust soaking each syllable. “Lube’s in my bag. Condoms too. Get them. Now.”

Castiel complies, tearing the room apart in his hysteric need to please Dean Winchester. He gets the condom on and probably too much lube spread over them both. He lines himself up before deciding he needs just one more full, filthy kiss from Dean.

Dean kisses him back with the frenzied intensity of shared, blissful delirium. He pushes back and stares at Castiel. His wide eyes travel over Castiel’s entire face, capturing his nose and chin and cheekbones. Castiel is about to ask him if everything is OK, when Dean seems to find what he was looking for. He pulls Castiel into a slow, gentle kiss that contrasts with the momentary mania that had previously possessed them.

“I want you, Cas,” Dean breathes into Castiel’s lips. “I want all of you.”

Castiel pushes into Dean and the world around him loses all meaning. He is completely enveloped by the warmth and heat of Dean’s being. It’s not just Dean’s tight ass clenching against his thick cock that makes Castiel want to start a religion in his honor. Everything about Dean, his entire aura, it pulls Cas in and makes him want to stay forever.

Dean takes his own cock in hand and starts to jack it in slow, firm strokes. Castiel adjusts his pace to match and revels in the litany of senseless profanity that emits from Dean’s gorgeous mouth.

Castiel has a sudden need to press his warm body against every inch of the man below him. He realizes that he is hot and sweaty and can’t stand to have his fucking dress shirt on another horrible moment. He tears open the buttons of his shirt and rids himself of it as quickly as can without faltering in his rhythm. He leaves the tie on.

Dean grabs the tie and pulls Castiel down on top of him. His eyes are wide and wild. “Tattoos,” he pants, “you’re covered in fucking tattoos.”

Castiel glances down at the intricate patterns of ink that decorate his arms and chest and sides. “Is that a problem?” he asks.

“Cas.” The name curls from Dean’s throat as a low, guttural sound. He bites at Castiel’s jaw and scrapes his blunt nails along the outline of the trailing branches that cross Castiel’s ribs. “You just got so much sexier.”

Castiel grunts and fucks into Dean with renewed fervor. Dean keeps biting at his skin, tracing the lines of every tattoo that his hands can reach. Castiel can often forget that the designs are there, but Dean’s careful touch sparks an intense desire to be absolutely covered in ink. Each piece was acquired with intent and meaning for Cas, even if it was just to decorate himself with beautiful things. But, now they hold a greater purpose: the wooing of Dean Winchester.

Castiel can feel Dean’s rhythm begin to stutter. “Are you close?” he asks.

“So fucking close. I want it. I want it so bad.” Dean’s voice approaches a whine. “But, I want you first. Please, Cas. Come for me.”

Cas looks down at Dean, flushed and wanton with need, and knows that could never deny this man anything.

“Please,” Dean begs, and with a final thrust, Cas whites out under the force of his orgasm.

When Castiel comes back to himself, Dean is pressing light kisses to his forehead and stroking lazy fingers through his hair.

“D’ya have fun?” Dean slurs, his voice sloppy and sated.

“You finished?” Castiel asks. He feels the laugh shake Dean’s body.

“Oh yeah,” Dean confirms. “Best finish line I ever crossed.”

“You don’t need to flatter me,” Castiel says, “I enjoyed myself as well.”

Dean’s fingers still in Cas’ hair. “I’m not joking, Cas.”

Castiel pushes himself up on an elbow and carefully removes himself from Dean, tying off the condom and disposing of it on the floor. He loosens his tie and tosses it to the far side of the room. Dean doesn't move.

“I’m serious.” Dean talks to the ceiling, but Castiel can see the sincerity in his posture; the way he fiddles with the hem of the bed sheets; the teeth nibbling on his kiss-bruised lips.

“OK,” Castiel allows.

“Look, I know I told you I do the casual sex thing a lot. And I told you that I didn't remember last night. Or, uh, that I knew you at all.” Dean sits up, but can’t seem to meet Cas’ gaze. “And, those things are all true. But there’s _more_ truth, I guess.”

Dean huffs a weary sigh before turning to face Cas. “I, uh. I know all about your work. I, um-- I helped organize the conference in town this weekend to try and lure you here. Which sounds really fucking creepy. I swear I’m not a creep.”

Castiel is too shocked to speak.

“I’m a big fan of your theories, and I thought maybe if I could meet you… And then I overheard your name in reception. And I guess I was pretty drunk and… well then I woke up and this totally hot fucking dude was in my room and I just assumed.” Dean takes Cas’ free hand between his own. “And you are _so_ fucking hot. And when you told me your name, I was embarrassed, and I was just gonna leave, but you kept _looking_ at me and--”

“Stop.” Cas find his voice and squeezes his hand in Dean’s. “It doesn't matter.”

Dean takes a steadying breath.

“Everything we did was because I wanted it,” Castiel assures Dean. “And, I hope, because you wanted it too.”

“Cas, buddy, you have no idea how bad I wanted it.”

Castiel pokes at the semen drying on Dean’s stomach. “I might have _some_ idea.”

Dean laughs and pulls Cas into a tight hug. “So this was OK?”

“More than OK.”

“And it was still hot?”

“So fucking hot.”

They lay back in bed and Castiel begins to slip into a light doze, lulled by the gentle rise and fall of Dean’s chest.

He doesn't know what will come next - he missed the presentation and Dean’s fellow organizers will likely be upset - but he doesn't really care. 

Currently, he has six feet worth of green-eyed, freckle-faced, bastard-child-of-Eros-and-Adonis _perfection_ named Dean fucking Winchester sprawled out on the bed beside him.

And that’s the opposite of a problem.

**Author's Note:**

> A birthday gift for my beautiful Aunt. 
> 
> I can be found on [tumblr](http://www.viscouslover.tumblr.com). Come visit me!


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